


Valak

by shalako



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Horror movie references, Humor, M/M, also its extremely ooc, i dont think this is even worth posting but ...., idk what this is, im a monster, no plot tbh, no romance either tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalako/pseuds/shalako
Summary: Archie stands still in the doorway, watching Mr. Gold wash blood off his hands.





	Valak

**Author's Note:**

> I based this off a five-random-words prompt and I think you can definitely tell.
> 
> Edit: not a single one of y’all told my dyslexic ass that I spelled the demon’s name wrong smh

His mind just isn’t working right; it’s as slow as the water rushing warm over his hands. So when the bathroom door swings open and Archie steps inside, already staring, Gold just stares back, unable to think of an explanation for the blood trickling down the drain.

“I …” says Archie, eyes on the sink. Gold turns the faucet and shakes pink-tinged water off his fingers. The last of the blood is out of sight within seconds, disappeared down the pipes. He wipes his hands dry with exaggerated dignity, acting like he doesn’t notice Archie standing there, staring at him still.

Archie’s shoes squeak on the tile as he shifts in the doorway. He clears his throat. “Where … where are you hurt?” he asks,

“Not my blood,” Gold lies. He grabs his cane from where it leans against the wall, steps gracefully past Archie and back into the diner. The overhead lights hurt his eyes, and the music coming from the radio, the loud conversations, the clatter of glasses and plates -- all of it hurts his ears, makes his head throb.

Archie follows him. If Gold could, he’d make a dash for the front door. He settles for a swift hobble instead. Outside, the darkness soothes the burning in Gold’s eyes and he pauses a moment, chin lifted up, breathing in the cold air.

“It’s your hand, isn’t it?” Archie asks. Gold tries to ignore him, but then Archie reaches for his hand and Gold snatches it away, out of reach. He makes a disgusted, strangled noise in the back of his throat, and is immediately frustrated with himself for making any noise at all.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” Archie says.

“It’s nothing,” says Gold. He can’t hide the wound properly; it’s on his right hand, and Archie is standing on his right side. Gold’s only option is to turn and face the harsh lighting of the diner, and that isn’t really an option at all.

“Did you punch someone?” asks Archie, voice light.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your concern.”

That shuts Archie up, for about three seconds.

“Did you punch a wall?” he asks. Gold shoots him what he hopes is an _I-can’t-believe-you-would-even-suggest-that_ , _do-I-look-like-the-type-of-man-who-punches-walls_ sort of look.

Maybe he succeeds. Archie changes the subject.

“I heard you were out terrifying the nuns today,” said Archie. Gold huffs.

“If anyone was terrified--” He stops himself and bites down hard on his tongue, eyes wide. He can see Archie’s face flying through a dozen different expressions on the periphery of his vision. Gold tightens his grip on his cane and does a pristine left-face, walking briskly away.

His coat doesn’t protect him much against a late-January Maine snow, so Gold walks as fast as he can -- and it’s definitely because he wants to keep warm, not because he’s running away. And it certainly doesn’t put strain on his already-aching knee. By the time he reaches his pawnshop, he can hear Archie hurrying to catch up with him. By the time his key is in the lock, Archie is at his side once more.

“You’re afraid of nuns?” Archie asks. Gold swears in his head so loudly that he worries Archie might hear.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. The words come out so gruff they’re a little garbled. He jostles the doorknob; for a moment he feels like he’s forgotten how doors work, and he’ll never get it open. But it swings inward eventually and he steps into the shop, knowing Archie will follow him but hoping faintly that his shop will prove to be some sort of magical sanctuary only he can enter.

It isn’t. Archie follows him inside.

“I guess it explains a lot,” Archie says. He fiddles with the end of his scarf. “Everyone always said you hate the nuns, but no one knew why.”

Gold doesn’t know which argument he wants to start with. _I don’t hate the nuns. I do hate the nuns, and so should everyone else. I can hate the nuns without being afraid of them_. And, most appealing of them all, _doesn’t everyone hate nuns?_

What his mouth says, without his permission, is, “That seems like amateur psychology to me.”

In Gold’s brain, this sentence sort of makes sense. It’s surrounded by nebulous thoughts connecting two other sentences -- _if you hate something, it’s because you really fear it_ and _if a boy is mean to you, it’s because he likes you_ \-- together. But he didn’t mean to say anything out loud, so he’s certainly not going to add these two doubtful sentences to the mix.

So his statement makes precious little sense, and Archie is giving him a look Gold doesn’t like at all.

“Amateur psychology,” Archie says, “would involve you lying down on a couch while I ask you questions about your past. Like if you were raised in a Catholic orphanage run by sadistic nuns who caned you and made you think Santa Claus was …”

Archie trails off, looking sheepish. Gold raises his eyebrows.

“That’s the plot to _Silent Night, Deadly Night_ ,” Archie mumbles.

Well, at least Gold isn’t the only saying stupid things tonight. He leans against the counter and feels the knuckles on his right hand stretch and sting. Grimacing, he examines the cuts and scrapes there, all of them nestled in one dark, oblong bruise.

“It’s the one where this guy dresses up as Santa Claus and murders a bunch of people,” Archie says. “Because his parents got murdered by--”

“I punched the bathroom wall,” says Gold, voice curt. Archie’s mouth snaps shut. “And I am afraid of nuns, in fact. Since you’re such a fan of horror movies, I’ll put this in terms you understand.” He rooted around in his brain for a moment, trying to get the words straight. “I’m Lorraine Warren. Mother Superior is Valak. I’ve just witnessed her impaling my husband in the Amityville house.”

Archie blinks at him for a moment, eyes wide, then turns around and stares out the windows. There’s a long, terrible silence, and then a choking noise. When Archie faces Gold again, he’s biting his cheeks to hold back a smile.

“I can’t believe you watched _The Conjuring_ ,” Archie says. “I mean, you even know all their names. How many times have you seen it? How the hell did you manage to say all that with a straight face?”

“I’ve seen it a perfectly normal amount of times,” says Gold with his most ruthless, withering glare. “Don’t lose perspective here. _I_ referenced a film from two years ago that grossed three-hundred-twenty million worldwide. _You_ referenced a film that played in theaters for less than a month in 1984.”

This time, Archie doesn’t turn around to try and hide his laughter. “You’re digging yourself deeper,” he wheezes. “Why do you know all this?”

“It’s common knowledge.”

Archie doubles over, laughing silently, his face hidden in his knees. Gold bites the inside of his cheeks and glares the entire time, just in case Archie looks up to see his expression.

Finally, the laughter dies down and Archie rights himself. He removes his glasses to wipe his eyes, still smiling.

“Okay,” he says, attempting seriousness. “So you’re saying you’re afraid of nuns--”

Gold chokes on a protest.

“--and talking to Mother Superior gave you a _panic attack_ , I’m guessing, which you dealt with by …” Archie pauses to raise his eyebrows and flatten his lips. “By going to Granny’s and assaulting her bathroom walls?”

Gold finds himself leaning heavily on the counter. He weighs his options in his head -- or tries to. His weary brain can’t seem to parse through anything right now.

“More or less,” he says.

Archie starts to smile, but thinks better of it and hastily wipes it off his face. “I won’t tell anyone,” he says.

“Fine,” says Gold, refusing to acknowledge this as a favor of any kind. Archie looks at him, head tilted, with a thoughtful little grin.

“So how many times have you seen _The Conjuring 2?_ ” Archie asks.

“I saw it in theaters,” says Gold nonchalantly. “Walked out about twenty minutes in.”

“ _False_ ,” says Archie with an emphatic jab at Gold’s chest. “You know the demon’s name, and they don’t reveal _that_ until the very end.”

“Well, let me finish,” says Gold with as much nasally stiffness in his voice as he can muster. “I watched the full thing when it came out on DVD.”

He doesn’t mention why he walked out, the way the harsh music and sudden, discordant screaming drove him out of his seat and into the hall, chest tight and heart pounding. The quiet, frozen panic attack he had standing next to a trash can full of popcorn, with custodial staff eyeing him from across the hall until he left. He also doesn’t mention that he watched the movie on DVD with the sound off and the subtitles on, and still hasn’t seen it all the way through with sound.

“I’m not a huge fan of the _Conjuring_ movies,” says Archie with a shrug and a grin. “But I did watch the TV show, with Tim Spaulding -- er, wait, no. That’s not his name.” He gestures vaguely, his smile fading a little. “He played Peter Pettigrew? In Harry Potter?”

Gold just stares at him, face blank.

“What, you haven’t seen Harry Potter?” Archie scoffs. ”You know how much money _Silent Night, Deadly Night_ made, but you’ve never watched Harry Potter?”

Gold hesitates a moment. “Frankly,” he says, “I don’t watch many movies, unless they involve nuns.”

Archie’s smile fades completely, turning into a baffled grimace. “Is that like an exposure thing to make you less scared of them? Or is it a fetish?”

Gold regrets saying anything about it. “It’s neither,” he says. “I was joking.”

“Sure.”

Gold stares at the floor and pretends he doesn’t notice himself blushing. Archie gracefully elects not to mention it.  In the ensuing silence, Gold wishes they’d started a conversation on any other topic. He could’ve easily discussed ballet, or classical music, or antiques, or law. But no. Here he stands, chatting about horror films and his fear of nuns with the town therapist.

Across from him, Archie whips out his phone and types something in. He scrunches his nose up, mouths something, and then says, “Sphen -- sphenisciphobia,” carefully enunciating each syllable. When Gold says nothing, Archie looks up at him with a grin.

“A phobia of nuns,” he says.

“It’s not a phobia,” Gold says, scowling at the floor. “It’s a rightful wariness.”

“Oh, come on,” says Archie. “What have nuns ever done to you?”

Gold keeps his face straight, putting on an appropriately woeful expression, and says, “You see, they used to beat me horribly in the orphanage where I grew up…”

Archie lets out a bark of laughter and stows his phone away. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll stop asking about it. You’ve made your point.”

Gold tries not to let his relief show.

“Next time something freaks you out,” Archie says, gesturing toward Gold’s right hand, “maybe don’t go punching walls? You can always call me. I’ll, uh, talk to you, if you want.”

Gold does his best not to grimace, but his displeasure at the idea must show in some way, because Archie smiles and says,

“Or not. You could just come over. We’ll watch a horror movie you haven’t memorized yet.”

Gold scoffs before he can stop himself; he tries unsuccessfully to disguise it as a cough. Before he can formulate a response, Archie’s phone is out again. He types something quickly, and after a minute or so of silence, Gold feels his own phone buzzing in his pocket.

“Just making sure you have my number,” Archie says with a wide grin. Gold nods; the little glowing screen on his phone lists Archie’s number. The text is just Archie’s name. “I’ll be seeing you,” Archie says.

Gold nods. When Archie leaves, he gives a small, unseen wave that makes the wounds on his knuckles sting all over again. And then he’s left alone in his shop.

Deftly, surreptitiously, Gold adds Archie’s number to his contacts and sets his name as Ed Warren.


End file.
